Spellbinding
by xoWriteToBeMexo
Summary: After her father's death, Bonnie Bennett moves to Mystic Falls, Virginia, to live with her grandmother. It is here, in this strange town with a bloody history, that the young girl learns about her heritage. But something is hunting Bonnie, and it won't stop until it sucks her dry. AU.
1. Chapter o1

**|Bonnie|**

_**T**here's__ so much blood._

_It's everywhere. Dripping down the walls and soaking into my mother's expensive Persian rug. I can smell it, salty and bitter, burning my nose. I try to scream, but I can barely even breathe. The football game is still playing on the television, in the background, but I can hardly hear the announcers' playful banter. I can only hear the slurping from the figure bent over the limp, broken body of my father. _

_He's missing an arm. It's laying at my feet._

_The figure whirls around to face me so fast that I don't actually _see _the movement. It's like the first and last page of a flipbook comic. She was crouched over my father, and now she's grinning sadistically at me with eyes the same color as the blood trickling from her red-stained lips. _

_She is beautiful. And she is deadly. _

_The scream finally tears from my chest, filling the room, reaching pitches I never dreamed of hitting in choir class. The figure falters, covering her ears, yelling at me to stop. I can't though. _

_I scream until there is no air left in my lungs, and then scream some more. I can see my father's throat, ripped open and still bleeding profusely._

_So much blood._

_I close my eyes, draw a breath, and and my screams continue. _

"Stop it!" the woman screams.

_No._

"Bonnie, stop!"

_He can't be dead._

"Bonnie!"

_I swing my fists blindly, and they meet something soft and warm. Someone makes a noise of surprise and a pair of hands grip my wrists. "No! Daddy! No!" I cry hysterically, my voice cracking. _

"Bonnie, baby, open your eyes!" This isn't that deadly creature's voice. It's warm, _familiar, _but scared. I do as I'm told and find soft, brown eyes gazing into mine. They sit under a brow creased with concern, and below that is a mouth curved down into a worried frown.

"M-Mom," I manage to sputter out past my sobbing. She acts quickly and gathers me in her arms, running her fingers up and down my back, her fingernails scratching comforting little circles the way she always did when I was a little girl.

My surroundings slowly click into place. An old, brown, coffee-stained rug covered the floor. An ancient grandfather clock chimes seven o'clock in the corner. I'm sitting on a worn out, old couch that used to be white, but now is tan from years of use. My legs are tangled up in the blankets, and it looks as though my mother has knocked the rickety, old wooden coffee table over in her efforts to get to me.

I'm not in our old, Tudor house in Indiana. There is no bloodstained, Persian rug or lifeless, torn up body. I'm in my grandmother's old farmhouse, in my mother's vice-like grip. I'm safe.

_Why don't I feel that way?_

The light flickers on. A tall, thin woman stands in the arched doorway. Her long, curly, black hair, streaked through with white, is pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck. She squints at us, making the crows feet in her dark skin slightly more pronounced. Even in her night dress and slippers, Sheila Bennett looks lovely.

"What's going on?" she asks, groggy but concerned.

Another figure appears beside her; a boy, my age, rubbing his eyes sleepily, dressed in a pair of plaid pajama pants and white t-shirt.

"Did she have _another _nightmare?" the boy asks. He's annoyed, and I can't say I really blame him. I've been waking my poor cousin, and grandmother, three times a week since my mother and I moved in a month prior.

"Hush, Jamie," my grandmother snaps.

With difficulty, I pull out of my mother's grasp. "Sorry," I croak, my voice sore from screaming.

No one responds.

Jamie merely purses his lips and wanders back up the stairs and to his room, slamming the door behind him. I flinch at the sharp sound, causing my mother to begin stroking my hair.

"I'll start coffee," Grams offers, casting me one more sympathetic glance, before meandering off to the kitchen. No doubt she will ask me questions later to see if I've seen anything new and/or different this time around. But, like always, my nightmares remain the same. There's nothing new to discuss and decipher the meaning of.

After a few silent moments of my mother holding me, and wiping away my tears with the pads of her thumbs, she leans in to kiss me on the forehead before exiting the family room and joining Grams in the kitchen.

Slowly, I untwist the blankets from around my legs and heave myself up onto my feet. My dark hair, still damp from my shower last night, hangs in ringlets down my back. I run my fingers through them as I wander upstairs and into the room occupied by my mother. This bedroom-now-turned-guest room once belonged to my mother when she was my age. It's hard, at times, to imagine that the peach walls, floral bed spread and white furniture once belonged to a younger version of my mother.

I fish some clothes out of my side of the closet without really _looking _at my choices. I honestly can't find the will in me to care about something as trivial as having the 'perfect' outfit for my first day at my new school: Mystic Falls High.

In the kitchen, I add too much sugar to my coffee but choose to drink it anyway while I wait for Jamie to finish his shower. I can only imagine what it must be like for my cousin sharing a house with three other females. _He must feel so outnumbered._

When he finally appears in the doorway, looking like the epitome of Mr. High School in his blue polo and khaki cut-offs, smelling of cologne and aftershave, I excuse myself and shuffle into the steamy bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

I use the sleeve of my navy blue shirt to wipe away the condensation on the mirror, and of course I don't like what I see staring back at me. The girl's eyes are lackluster, purplish-looking bruises encircling them, her mouth is pinched and her cheek bones are hallowed out. That girl in the mirror looks _lifeless._

I make haste in brushing my teeth and splashing some cold water onto my face, in hopes of helping to clear my head of my muddled thoughts. On my way back to the kitchen, I turn the coffee table right side up. When I enter the room through the white swinging door, I see that Jamie is arguing to Grams about me - he obviously doesn't want to drive "that freak" around. _His words, not mine._

But, once again, I can't exactly blame him. _Who dreams of their father being sucked dry by some beautiful stranger?_

I decide to eavesdrop a little, wondering just _how _I'm going to get to school. Walk, drive, carpool, bus; what does it matter?

Grams eventually puts her foot down and _tells _him that he is driving me to school, and if he thinks other wise then she will take away his driving privileges. Harsh, but it appears to work.

* * *

The fifteen minute drive to Mystic Falls High is filled with a tense silence. I keep my forehead pressed against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the scenery blur past in multi-colored swirls. Jamie, currently, is fuming silently to himself as he grips the steering wheel of his Jeep Wrangler a little _too _tightly. So much so that his knuckles are turning bone-white.

Ever since arriving on our grandmother's doorstep, I've tried to steer clear of Jamie and not be too much a burden. He's had to suffer through losing _both _parents, while I still have my mother, at the very least. Plus, Grams has raised him since he was nine-years-old, and I don't want to intercede in their lives more than is necessary.

Once we pull onto campus, and Jamie finds a parking slot, he's almost out of the vehicle in a flash before I can even bother to ask him where the main office is. I scramble out of the Jeep after him, having to double my pace to catch up with him before I lose him in the throng of students milling about in the courtyard.

"Jamie, wait!" I call out, earning a few curious glances pointed at me. It almost slips my mind that Mystic Falls High has only seven-hundred, give or take a few, in attendance, therefore I'm going to stand out like a sure thumb for the first few days due to the fact that everyone probably knows everyone else. With any luck, I'll breeze through the 'new girl' phase and they'll get over the anomaly of me in a week, or two, and I can fade into the background.

Jamie reluctantly leads me into the building and down the main hall, turning a left and down an adjacent one. I take in the white bricked walls that are lined with doors that lead to various classrooms, as well as clusters of tan lockers at different intervals, as I amble down the crowded corridor.

Eventually we both come to a halt in front of a door labeled: **Main** **Office**. Without so much as a look, or word, in my direction, Jamie leaves me to my own devices. I want to call him back, mainly because he's the only thing _remotely _familiar to me in this strange new place, but I refrain from doing so.

The door slips open easily enough, and I slowly enter, crossing the multi-colored carpet, and up to the counter with the slide-along glass. I wait behind the window, pretending to look interested in all of the academic-looking posters lining the walls for the elder woman to take notice. _Anytime now..._

"She won't talk to you until it's _exactly _eight o'clock," a deep voice informs me.

I nearly jump out of my own skin in shock. I didn't notice anyone sitting in any of the guest chairs when I first entered, but there is a boy sitting there with his left leg propped up onto his right, a book splayed open on his jean-clad lap and a black backpack resting at his feet. His hair is a warm mixture of blonde and brown, gelled messily to perfection, with a broad forehead, angular jawline, deep-set, forest green eyes, a straight nose and well-formed mouth.

_He's drop-dead gorgeous._

"Huh?" I reply stupidly, blinking slowly.

The guy cocks his head to the side and surveys me with obvious curiosity, his eyes sweeping over my frame calculatingly. "Are you new here?"

"Mmhmm," I mumble, nodding my head in affirmation.

"It looks as though we're in the same boat. So, why not join me?" he offers, smiling amicably, and gestures to the pleather green chair beside the one he's occupying. "I've been here since seven-fifteen, and she hasn't shown any sign of-"

"Can I _help _the two of you?" a peevish voice asks, cutting through the boy's sentence.

We simultaneously glance in her direction, and her beady eyes are glaring at us through half-moon spectacles.

"I guess I stand corrected," the boy mutters dryly, causing me to chuckle silently. He quickly stuffs his book into his bag, shoulders it and stands alongside me as we move towards the counter.

"Uh, my name is Bonnie Bennett. I'm just starting here," I inform her, watching her eyes take on a knowing look.

"Oh, of course," she murmurs, diving behind the desk for a moment. I lean forward slightly, wondering if this woman is qualified for...whatever it is her job requirements are. _Like scaring new kids away in fear of her leading them to her gingerbread cottage and eating them._

I hear the guy next to me suddenly clear his throat, and I cast him a sidelong glance. He gives me an amused smirk, one eyebrow raised. "Did I just...?"

"If we're quick, we might can push her in the oven," he murmurs under his breath, confirming my suspicions that I _did, _indeed, voice my thoughts a moment before.

I feel the blood pool into my cheeks from mortification at being heard. I've been guilty a time, or two, of doing that, but I've never been _caught_.

_Damn. __He must have really good hearing._

"I do, in fact," he responds, chortling.

I groan, raking my fingers through my curls. "_Stop _that," I demand, sending him a pointed glare in his direction.

He merely holds his hands up in a defensive gesture, smiling. "Sorry," he apologizes, though I can tell he's thoroughly entertained.

"Here you are!" the woman exclaims, flustered, finally emerging. "Here's your schedule for this semester, and please get this signed by all of your teachers," she instructs, handing me a white sheet of paper with my classes printed on it, as well as a small yellow slip.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking them and stuffing them into my messenger bag.

"Make sure to bring that back here after school," she adds, no doubt referring to the yellow slip of paper.

"Will do. Thank you, again, Mrs...," I trail off as I squint to read her name tag, "...Bashambridge." _I've completely butchered her last name. _

_"Humph." _She clearly isn't impressed. "Well, good luck."

As I turn on my heel to leave, I don't miss the guy's grin. I narrow my eyes into angry slits as I glare at him, only causing him to be _more _amused, before stalking out of the room with my chin held high.

"So, I take it that you're-"

I slam the door behind me before I can hear the guy's name. _I don't even want to know it._

* * *

**A\N**: I love Stefonnie. 'Nuff said. :)

Reviews = love!

-xoxo.


	2. Chapter o2

**|Bonnie|**

I've only been inside of Mystic Falls High for all of ten minutes and already my head is _throbbing. _What I wouldn't give for my grandmother's herbal tea right about now - it's always good at diminishing these killer headaches.

I gnaw on my lower lip as I stand to the side of a stampede of teenagers; the clanging of metal doors being shut, and squeals and shouts of friends reuniting after a long weekend, is rebounding off the walls of my skull.

I retreat back into my locker, turning my back to the throng of adolescents, trying to memorize me schedule before setting off on my venture of finding my first period Ap Biology class. At least this way I can wander about aimlessly without my face buried into a sheet of paper, wondering what my next class is, and I won't stand out _near _as much.

I veer my eyes into a roll at seeing that Physical Education is my last class of the school day. It seems as though they make it a requirement every four years here at Mystic Falls High. _Just peachy. _

I peer up as the bell rings seconds later, thin and reedy, throughout the hallways. Locker doors slam shut and the students begin to scatter, the hallway becoming quieter. Sighing, I fold up the schedule and toss it into the locker, closing the door, ready to face the first day.

I whirl about, preparing to take a step forward, only to find my face becoming planted into a well-toned chest. "_Oof_! Um, excuse me," I mutter, annoyed, as I try to edge around him, but the guy steps in the same direction as I do, causing that whole awkward-side-step-thing. I peer up at him through my lashes, and then I grow rigid when I find myself looking into a familiar pair of hazel orbs. _  
_

_Is this guy following me now? _

I open my mouth to say something, and then close it. Because, honestly, what _can _I say?

He grin's a pirate smile. "I see we meet again," he muses aloud.

"So it would seem," I agree, irritated at how out of breath I sound. He offers me a ghost of a smile. It's almost as if he's aware the effect his presence has on me...

"I never got the chance to introduce myself earlier," he begins, hitching the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder, then precedes to extend his hand out towards me. "I'm Stefan Salvatore."

_Even his name is alluring. _

My eyes trace over his face, and I can see that his warmhearted features hold no pretenses, before shifting my gaze down to his hand. I bring my smaller hand up, pressing our palms together, as I grasp ahold of his. As soon as my warm skin brushes his much cooler skin, I automatically feel my bones begin to liquify and my heart beginning to beat erratically inside of my chest.

I gasp at the strange sensation my body is experiencing from just a simple graze of hands, quickly jerking it back as if I've been scorched. I rub my hand on my jean-clad thigh, trying to gain some feeling sensation back into it.

"Sorry about that," Stefan apologizes, offering a timid smile, letting his hand fall limply to his side. "I have terrible circulation in my hands."

I eye him peculiarly. _Why don't I believe him? _

"Right," I utter, sighing. "Well, I should probably be-"

"Shall I walk you to class?" he offers kindly, cutting me off mid-sentence.

"Ah, n-no," I stammer out, taken aback but his question. "I'm sure I can find it on my own."

"I believe we're heading in the same direction," Stefan persists with a knowing smile. "AP Biology with Mr. Banner, right?"

I feel my blood run cold. _There's no way he could_ _possibly know that... _

"Bonnie?" he inquires, breaking my train of thought, his dark brows furrowing deeply.

"Um, yeah... S-Sure," I respond uncertainly, leading the way. I make sure to keep an arm's length distance between us as we make our way to the designated classroom. There is something..._off _about Stefan Salvatore. I can't exactly put my finger on it, but I just get this odd feeling around him. Not bad, per se. But definitely not good, either. It's more _indifference_, than anything.

_I just need to steer clear of him, _I advise myself. And so I do my best to ignore him, instead concentrating on the numbers over the doors as we pass by them. _D-55...D-57...D-59. _And there it is.

I make a beeline for the door, sad to see that most the seats have already been filled once entering over the threshold. Nevertheless, I keep my head down as I choose a random desk in the third row over from the door, four back from the front. I take out my notebook and pen, arranging them atop my desk, and wait until the teacher begins.

It's just as I begin to doodle aimlessly on the first page of my notebook that I sense movement to my right. I inconspicuously gaze in the direction, feeling my muscles tighten and my body grow stiff as my eyes meet _his._ Stefan is outright staring at me, having no reservations about doing so, either. He's two rows away, but the way his eyes are intensely boring into mine feels as though he's _right _next to me.

"_Stop that," _I mouth, which only causes him to laugh silently to himself. Is my discomfort really _that _entertaining?

I veer my eyes into a roll and focus my attention back to the front of the class, noticing that Mr. Banner has already began lecturing. The current unit that we're going over is photosynthesis, and I take notes verbatim. Nevertheless, for the duration of the period I could _feel _his eyes on me. The hair on my arms, and the back of my neck, stood on end and my skin erupted into goosebumps.

Once the bell sounds for second period, I quickly gather my belongings and exit the classroom posthaste. I would have to come back at some point during the day to get Mr. Banner to sign my slip.

* * *

**|Stefan|**

It isn't my intentions to make friends with the little witch, but I have to admit that she amuses me to no end; I allow myself to revel in the fact that my presence causes her obvious discomfort.

However, I know from previous experiences that if she were more in tune with her powers, that she can sense _what _I am. Witches are servants of Nature, they help to keep the balance, and my kind is an abomination against anything natural. Hence the reason they can usually detect when anything _un_natural is nearby.

I sensed her powers as soon as she set one foot into the school building this morning. I took notice of the way the air surrounding me suddenly felt _electric_. Not only that, but her aroma invaded my senses once the door to the main office opened and she entered tentatively, her nearness only serving to make the venom pool into my mouth as I realized just how _delectable _she smelled - like amber. I kept my head ducked, pretending to be immersed with my novel. I focused on one single line on the page, not gaining an ounce of meaning from it, as I felt the veins beneath my eyes begin to protrude.

_Control, _I chanted in my mind like a prayer, until I was sure my hunger was under wraps.

As I steeled myself in the chair, I took in her appearance. Black, corkscrew curls fell below her shoulders, mocha-colored skin, and green, feline eyes. I appraised her like a predator would its prey, just before it attacks. I inhaled deeply through my nostrils and held in my breath, trying to make myself grow accustomed to her scent. Besides, if I was to be around her more often than not, I couldn't let myself traipse around trying to plot the young witch's untimely demise just so I could get a sip of her blood.

I have only ever had the pleasure of tasting a witch's blood three times in my one-hundred and forty-five years as a vampire, and each time was better than the last. As the warm liquid passed over my taste buds, easily sliding down my throat and into my body, I could _almost _feel their life force inside of me. I almost felt..._alive_, somehow. A witch's power _is _life, which explains why my kind covets the blood of one.

And when I found out that the girl is a _Bennett_ witch, it made her all the more tempting to me. _No doubt her blood could be the best I've ever tasted..._

"Mr. Salvatore?" Mrs. Roundtree's voice drones through my name, bringing me back to the present.

My cheek is propped on my fist as I gaze out of the window to the luscious green lawn of the school, and the line of trees just beyond. The pencil in my left hand rests against blank paper, and I slowly shift my eyes around, sudden silence in the room meaning all eyes are on me.

Roundtree is round-faced, white-haired, and plump. The other teachers probably think she's a kind, harmless soul. She has small, brown eyes behind steel-rimmed glasses and carnelian lipstick feathering off the edge of her lips. Her hands constantly pick at the bottom edge of her lump cardigan.

The woman resembles a weasel, getting ready to steal its next chicken.

"Were we _paying attention_, Mr. Salvatore?" You can strop a knife to her tone. A tide of whispers run through the room. It looks as though Roundtree has picked her target for the next thirty minutes, and it's me.

Against my better judgment, I open my mouth with the answer to the question she apparently thinks I didn't hear her ask, "Fort Sumter."

My response is greeted with silence. Roundtree's eyes narrow behind her glasses, and I opened my mouth. So, I jump in with both feet. "You asked where the first shots of the Civil War were fired," I restate her question, trying to refrain myself from smiling pompously. "It was Fort Sumter. April 12th to April 13th of 1861."

Roundtree eyes me for a moment. I'm not quite a known quantity yet, so I _might _actually get away with it. The lanky boy in front of me squirms in his seat, making it creak.

The teacher visibly decides to pick on someone else, with a look that promises me trouble later. "Thank you, Mr. Salvatore." Her pause lengthens as she taps meditatively on the desk with her yardstick, her eyes scanning the other faces in the room.

For the next half-hour, the woman picks on a beefy boy in the back corner, only after waking him from his nap by throwing a piece of chalk at his forehead.

The halls are the usual crush, jocks snapping like sharks, cheerleaders simpering and the rest of the student body just trying to get by. A contingent of stoners are clustered around a locker, and I'm sure a brown paper bag chance hands. I peer back, smiling knowingly - there are no teachers in sight. Mystic Falls High is your run-of-the-mill high school, save for the fact that there's a vampire roaming the halls.

Of course, these kids have no reason to fear me. I have no hidden agenda where I plan on sucking them dry, or snapping their pretty little necks.

_I'm only here for one thing, and one thing only._

* * *

**A\N**: What could Stefan be there for?! :O lol.

Okay, so just a little side-note: In this story, Stefan is gonna be a gentleman/badass haha. He's not going to be a Ripper, though he may have rippish-tendencies. Idk why, but I just love edgy Stefan. He's fun to tweak and write about! ;)

Oh, and I want to say thanks for the review/favs/follows. I'm glad people are reading my story! I just hope you all are enjoying it too. :)

Please leave some feedback for me! It's awesome hearing your guys' thoughts on the story/characters! **_Constructive_**criticism is always welcome. :) I know there's room for improvement on my writing, so please let me know!

Until the next chapter!

-xoxo.


	3. Chapter o3

**|Bonnie|**

_September 12th, 2009  
__Dear Journal,_

_I don't exactly know how to start my first entry, but I guess the beginning is always a good place..._

_For the past few months, my mind has been a blur. I can't seem to come to terms with everything that has happened. I still can't put it into perspective, the truth that I lost my dad and nothing will ever be the same again... __How am I supposed to move on from this crazed society of pain that I now live in? How can I truly be myself again when the guilt that my existence still stands and the feeling of pure emptiness strives inside of me?_

_My nightmares have been getting progressively worse, but it doesn't seem to matter how many times they occur, because the next one is always more horrific than the one prior. Grams has been questioning me about them whenever we're alone together, which doesn't happen often because it seems Mom always knows when to intercede. She doesn't want Grams to "hash open wounds that are better left closed," or so she claims. __But talking to Grams about Dad is always...rejuvenating. __Plus, she doesn't make me feel like I'm losing touch with reality when I tell her about the woman from my nightmares. _

_My life here in Mystic Falls has been nothing short of tedious. I want to be back in Camden, where everything is as it should be. But Mom keeps reminding me that a "fresh start" is just what we need to "heal" and "forget." But how is that even possible? _

_I asked Grams that very question a few days ago, "How can she just expect me to act as if nothing_ _happened?" But she told me that people grieve in different ways, and that I need to respect my mother's way of dealing with my father's death. _

_Between you and me, though...? It doesn't feel like he's really gone. In the days after his burial, while Mom and me where still living in Camden, I somehow deluded myself into thinking that he was simply on an extended business trip. I realize now how much of a pathetic attempt that was to delay me accepting any truth of the matter._

_Ridiculous, right? But still, it helps to think that I'll be seeing him soon; when he gets back with a souvenir for me from wherever he is. _

_As I sit here, writing all of this down, I can't help but wonder how Jamie has managed to "deal" with the loss of his own parents. Did he just wake up one day and decide that he's going to forget the two people that meant the world to him? Because forgetting means no longer hurting?_

_Maybe when we're on better terms, I can ask him. _

_Until then,  
__Bonnie Bennett_

I sigh as I close the brown, leather-bound journal and stuff it between the cushions of the couch; I make a mental note to find a safer hiding place for it later. Of course, no one else knows that I've started to keep a journal, save for Grams. And that's only because she's the one who provided it for me. She's been encouraging me to open up to my thoughts, my feelings, lately.

_"Whenever you feel like you're so full of emotions, I want you to open up this journal and write, baby girl. Write everything down - every thought, every feeling. Nothing is too big or too small." _I feel my lips curl upwards as Grams' words echo in the recesses of my mind.

Ever since I was a child, from the time I was a toddler until I was twelve-years-old, I spent my summers here in Mystic Falls with my grandmother. During the school year, I would always count down the days until I was reunited with her. During the scorching summer days, we would take walks in the woods surrounding her property, work in her herb garden, practice Latin, learn about my ancestry, and talk about anything and everything under the moon.

For the better part of my life, my grandmother was one of my best friends. That is, until my mother stepped in and put a stop to my summer visits right before my thirteenth birthday. She claimed that it was time I started growing up, rather than wasting my time learning nonsensical things from my grandmother. 'Til this day, I still haven't figured out why, exactly, my mother was so against my visits. I have this suspicion it has something to do with the falling out she and Grams had years before I was born.

Even now they seem to be dancing on their toes, precariously, around each other.

"...she's old enough to know, Abigail," Grams' stern, yet muffled, voice filters through the lower level of the house. They're currently in my late grandfather's study, arguing for the umpteenth time this week.

"She's _my _daughter, or have you forgotten that?" Mom's voice quips sharply, yet defensively.

"You've waited too long to tell her, as it is," the elder woman responds knowingly. "By keeping this from her, you're denying your own daughter her _birthright_."

"I'm not talking about this right now," my mom states with a tone of a finality, before I hear a pair of retreating footsteps. I look up through my lashes and see my mother stalk past the living room, a determined look on her pretty features, and then storm out the front door without another glance back.

I sigh as I heave myself up from the couch and slowly make my way to the study. I lightly rap on the door with my knuckles and peer into the room, surprised to see Grams over by one of the windows, behind the old mahogany desk, staring beyond the glass. I hesitantly enter, the familiar smell of tobacco and peppermint assaulting my nostrils; it was my granddad's signature smell.

"Grams?" I ask hesitantly, placing a hand on her slender shoulder.

"She's as stubborn as an ol' mule," she muses absently, obviously referring to my mother, exhaling deeply. "Just like her father."

I can't help but giggle lightly at the mention of Granddad. He died when I was six-years-old, but I spent enough time with him during my summers here that I was granted fond memories I can easily recall. Like the way he would perch me atop his shoulders during leisurely strolls around the farm, or even teaching me the _proper _way to ride a horse.

"You know how she can be," I tell her pointedly, shrugging. "When she has her mind set on something, she rarely ever changes it."

Grams nods her head, slowly turning to face me with a rather pinched expression. "I just hope that she doesn't wait too late, baby," she murmurs vaguely, seemingly troubled, as her eyes gaze intently into mine.

My brows furrow deeply as I bite the inside of my lower lip, internally debating whether if should ask the question that's been at the forefront of my mind for the past several weeks. _What are they hiding from me? _I've tried my best not to be too nosy about it, but if it pertains to/about me, I feel as though I have a _right _to know.

However, before I can even utter a word, Jamie's calling out for Grams from the upper level of the house. She sighs, muttering something along the lines of, "_What am I gonna do with that boy?" _before kissing me on the cheek and leaving me alone in the study, more confused than I was when I first entered.

* * *

_He's staring at me again. _

I'm currently sitting in my desk, slumped down in my seat with my head ducked down, allowing my dark hair to fall over my right shoulder and using it as a makeshift curtain to keep him out of my peripheral vision. And yet, it doesn't seem to deter him seeing as how I can _feel _his eyes on me. It's like he's drinking me in, trying to memorize me.

Just as I begin to squirm under his intense gaze, wanting nothing more than to whip around and ask him just what the _hell_ his problem is, the English Lit teacher, Miss Prowley, enters the room and calls the class to order as she slams her briefcase down atop her desk. She's one of the youngest faculty members at the high school, but over the course of the past few days she's easily become my favorite teacher. With curly brown hair, porcelain skin and hazel eyes, she almost looks as though she could be a student, rather than the instructor.

She grabs a stack of small books from a nearby shelf and tosses a couple of them to each of the people at the front of each row, telling them to pass them back.

I study the cover of mine, reading the title to myself. It's a collection of poems.

"Turn to page forty-six," Miss Prowley instructs, and everyone does so. "Emily Dickenson. What do you know about her?" Her eyes flicker about the room, waiting for someone to speak up. After a moment, someone raises their hand. I see that it's Tyler Lockwood, a jock and resident Mr. Popular here at Mystic Falls High. "Tyler?"

"Wasn't she some kind of freak that hid away from people, and stuff," Tyler says, earning a few snickers from some of his cronies surrounding him. _Someone give this kid a Nobel Prize. _

Miss Prowley doesn't appear to be annoyed, but neither is she amused. "Can anyone else give a better, more _put together_, answer?" A beat, and then, "Stefan?"

The words that flow from his mouth are like svelte. "Miss Dickenson was a recluse for most of her life. It was during the time that she was - as Tyler put it - 'hiding away from people, and stuff,' that she wrote most of her poetry."

Miss Prowley's eyes are practically glistening. "Excellent, Stefan. Thank you," she tells him sincerely.

I can't help but chance a peek in his direction, only to find myself wishing that I didn't. Because as soon as he nods at the older woman, his eyes immediately seek out mine; it seems like he expected me to do this. And my suspicious are confirmed as his hazel eyes clash with mine and he cast me a wink.

_Ugh. _

Just as I turn my focus back to the front of the class, I see that Miss Prowley's eyes are roaming over the students in the room. I try to avoid her gaze by staring down at the book, where the words run together in front of my face. "Miss Bennett," she says, rendering my efforts to remain unnoticed useless, "why don't you read the poem aloud for us?"

"Alright," I say softly, though reluctantly. I blink several times until the black print forms separate words, rather than one long one. Quietly, I start to read.

"Speak up a little, please, Bonnie," she requests, though not rudely.

Chewing my lip, I look down at the page again and force myself to read the words more loudly. "_Pain has an element of blank; it cannot recollect when it began, or if there were a day it was not..._," I pause briefly, swallowing pass the lump forming at the back of my throat, and try not to think too much about what I'm reading. I continue more quickly, wanting to get it over with before my brain can process the meaning, "_It has no future but itself, its infinite realms contain its past, enlightened to perceive new periods of pain."_

"Thank you," Miss Prowley says.

I don't look up, rather continue to stare down at the page as the woman launches into a lesson what the poem meant. Everything that is said is completely lost on me. Though I struggle not to, I find myself re-reading the poem a few times over. My mind goes off on a tangent of its own, subconsciously working out what Emily Dickenson was trying to convey with her simple wordplay.

_'It has no future but itself, its infinite realms contain its past, enlightened to perceive new periods of pain,' _I read silently, feeling a sudden throbbing in a certain corner of my chest. I shrink down in my seat, my mind still working in overdrive.

Eventually, I manage to tear my eyes away from the deceptively neat, typed page that greatly contrasted the meaning of the words it holds. My ears tune back into the conversation as a blonde girl, who's name I know to be Caroline Forbes, offers her take on the poem.

"_Clearly_, it's about pain as its own entity," she says, knocking a few stray, loose curls over her left shoulder. "By personifying the emotion, Dickenson is setting it apart from people, making it less personal." _  
_

_For someone who sounds smart, she's pretty stupid. _My brain has been mulling over the words in the poem, and not once have I thought of anything like what Caroline just said.

"I can't help but disagree," Stefan's gentle voice suddenly pierces the air, and I hear the creaks of several desks as people turn to give him incredulous glances. Because, who would dare speak up against the Queen Bee?

"Elaborate, please," Miss Prowley encourages as she props herself on the corner of her desk, crossing her arms.

"She's not trying to disconnect people from pain," Stefan explains methodically. "She's just defining it. Also that, when someone's in pain it's almost impossible to remember what it's like _not _to feel it. It's like you can only remember pain because, to you, that's all there is."

Miss Prowley smiles, seemingly pleased with his answer. "Excellent, Stefan. Would anyone like to add to that?"

Without so much as a signal from my brain, my hand is being raised into the air of its on accord. _What the hell am I doing? _

"Yes, Bonnie?"

The words come out of my mouth so fast, before I can even recognize what I'm going to say. "Dickenson is saying that you don't know when the pain starts, or if there's been a time when you don't feel it, because that's all there has ever been. There's _only _pain. So, you see it behind you and in front of you, that's it. There's just the pain before, the pain now, and whatever pain there is ahead. You're just going to hurt...," my voice catches in my throat, and I practically whisper, "..._forever_."

"That's _exactly _right," Miss Prowley is practically beaming, clapping her hands gleefully. "Thank you, Stefan and Bonnie, for your wonderful insight today."

I notice that Caroline is scowling, clearly unhappy that she isn't the one being praised. I merely shrug and avoid everyone's gaze; especially Stefan, which is full of concerned curiosity.

"We have five minutes before the bell. I would like everyone to read the poem on page fifty-two tonight, and be prepared for an open discussion tomorrow," Miss Prowley announces before turning to the white board.

I sigh as I make a mental note of the assignment, before stuffing my things into my messenger bag. By the time the bell does ring, I scramble out of my desk and make a beeline for the door - to freedom. However, I'm forced to slow down in the hallway as more and more students begin filing out of the classrooms and loiter the cramped space.

Someone shoves past me roughly, and I flinch as I look up in enough time to see Caroline glaring back at me over her shoulder. Her delicate features are pulled into a pursed look as her blue-green eyes narrow into angry slits. "Showoff," she seethes, loud enough for me to hear, before turning back around.

I take a few deep breaths, trying to keep myself calm. My original plan was just to blend in and not give anyone _any _reason to dislike me, but I can't even seem to do that right. _  
_

"You're pretty smart, huh?" someone says lowly into my ear, causing me to jerk slightly and whirl around. I'm surprised to find myself staring into the brown eyes of Tyler Lockwood. "Hey, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," he tells me, chuckling, his eyes swirling with mirth.

"S'okay," I mutter, licking my lips nervously and glance around me self-consciously.

"I just wanted to tell you that I think it's pretty cool what you did back there; the stuff you said," he tells me, studying my face closely. "I had no idea what that crap meant. I suck at poems." He chuckles.

I try not to stare _too _long at his face - taking in his sharp nose, high cheek bones, full lips - and merely shrug. "Um, thanks. But it's not really a big deal."

I see Tyler's grin widen from the corner of my eye. "Right. Mind if I walk you to class?"

_Yes. Everyone's staring and wondering why you're talking to me. Girls are watching me like they want to claw my eyes out; I don't like it. Go away. _"If you want."

"Cool," Tyler winks and slings an arm over my shoulder. As his overpowering cologne assault my nostrils, I resist the urge to shudder and recoil. "Because, I want to ask you something."

"Oh?" I try to make myself seem, at the very least, _vaguely _interested. Not that it seems to bother Tyler, of course.

"Yeah. See, I'm having a little get together this weekend with some friends. My 'rents are hosting some sort of benefit at our mansion, but the _real _party will be out by our lake. And I've decided to extend you an invitation."

I'm not sure whether he expects me to be jumping up and down, clapping my hands enthusiastically, or what. "I don't think I can come," I settle on saying, shrugging.

Tyler's smug expression falters just a bit. "Why not? Jamie Wilson's your cousin, right? He's coming, so you can get a ride with him."

"I don't think Jamie would want me to come..."

"Well, it's not Jamie's party, is it?" He squeezes my shoulder as we come to a halt at the door that leads to me Civics class. "C'mon. At least say you'll think about it."

_No. _

"Okay," I respond quickly, giving him what he wants.

Tyler grins, showcasing a set of pearly whites. "Awesome. I expect to see you there this weekend," he tells me, nodding, before being swallowed up by the hordes of people still meandering the corridor.

I sigh warily, hitching the strap of my messenger bag higher up on my shoulder, before turning on my heel to enter the classroom. Only, I find myself colliding into something - rather, _someone. _I gasp and stumble back a step, only to be quickly righted by a firm, yet gently, grip on my forearm.

"What's this weekend?"

_Stefan. _

I wrench my arm out of his grasp, as if his touch burns me, and choose to blatantly _ignore _his abrupt and out-of-place question. I try to edge around him, but he steps in the same direction that I do, and stops me from entering the room. I huff, shifting my eyes up to meet his, and then freeze cold. His eyes slice into mine like a cold knife, and suddenly I feel transparent.

"I believe I asked a question," Stefan reminds me easily, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"And _I_ believe that it's none of _your _damn business," I retaliate, crossing my arms haughtily. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"Bonnie, wait," he intercedes for the _second _time, and I get this gnawing suspicion that this is going to become a routine for us. "I'm sorry for my behavior lately. I'm just..."

"Some guy who can't take a hint?" I offer, my tone dripping with sarcasm. It isn't my intention to come off as rude, but Stefan Salvatore has been grating on my _last _nerve.

He smiles ruefully. "You're different," he muses, more so to himself. "I like that."

Just then, the tardy bell sounds. _Saved by the bell. _

As I gesture for Stefan to step aside, he finally does so without qualms. I sigh in relief and breeze past him, to the far back corner of the room where I have been sitting since my first day, a week ago. As I plop down into my seat, imagine my surprise to see that the one adjacent to mine is occupied, as well, by none other than Stefan.

"_What the hell are you doing?!" _I hiss frantically, noticing how the people from nearby tables is staring back at us curiously.

"Sitting in," he answers simply, though his eyes are practically glimmering from amusement, and placing a notebook and pen in front of him. "I may want to take this elective next term."

"Bullsh-"

"_Shh_," Stefan insists, his eyes glistening with humor, holding his index finger up to his lips. "Class is about to start."

_Fuck my life._

* * *

**A\N**: Well, this chapter was whopper! :) lol. A lot longer than the last one, so I hope that makes up for the wait. Sorry, but I wanted to make sure everything seemed to flow and fit into the plot line I have planned for this story.

Quick question for you readers: would you like for me to write in Stefan's POV more often? Or just stick with Bonnie's? Or maybe interchange them every so often? I'd like to hear your guys' opinion on that! So please let me know in a review! :D

Thanks so much for the reviews/favorites/follows! You guys are great!

-xoxo.


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